Saying “So Long” to a Dear Friend: RIP Mike Rosenberg – A Man Who Taught Me Much About How to Write and How to Get it Right
I hope you’ll indulge me as I pay tribute to my dear friend, Mike Rosenberg, who passed away recently – and much too soon. It’s hard to list all of Mike’s contributions, accomplishments, and amazing virtues – and if you’d like, you can read his full obituary here.
What I’d like to share with you were his enormous talents as a mentor, news reporter, boss, and friend. Mike was my first executive editor in the newspaper business, back when we worked together on the staff of the Lexington Minuteman in the late 1970s and into early 1980. I learned so much from him – about writing, about storytelling, about getting the story right (much more important than getting it first), about explaining how the news affected everyday people, and about paying attention to the small stuff as well as the big picture.
A perfect example of Mike’s philosophy on the latter item: he often emphasized how important it was to make sure obituaries were written properly. No, you would never win awards because you wrote great obits – and it was often the low-reporter-on-the-totem-pole who was assigned to them – but you could really upset and hurt a grieving family if you made mistakes in a relative’s obit. So if you’re in doubt about the spelling of a person’s name, or where the deceased worked, or whether the person was 85 or 86-years-old, check with the funeral director – or even respectfully check with the family. I probably wrote 1,000 obituaries during my newspaper career, and I never forgot Mike’s advice.
And his “obit rule” was just one small example. Mike followed that basic approach with every news story he edited. “Are you certain about the date?” he would ask. Or: “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say in this paragraph – give it another try.” His vocabulary was extensive (“I don’t think this is the word you’re looking for here”); and his knowledge – especially about the towns he covered – was encyclopedic (“This can’t be right – the Board of Appeals changed that zoning two years ago – check it again”).
It would be wrong to call Mike a taskmaster, because the word sounds too pedestrian and too harsh. He was a true teacher and a true professional – and to him, getting it right was a prerequisite to calling yourself a true journalist. He did it all with an amazing sense of humor, and even with the pressure of deadlines, I will always cherish the numerous laughs when we shared at work – he had a contagious laugh that you could hear across the newsroom. His wry smile always started with the twinkle in his eyes. Like many news reporters, his humor was irreverent – but unlike many, he was never, ever cruel. I can’t think of anyone who didn’t like Mike Rosenberg.
And I should mention that I never once witnessed Mike let his political points of view (and he had strong ones!) influence the way he covered, wrote, or edited the stories we published – his integrity was unparalleled and worthy of emulation. Mike could talk about anything – history, current events, politics, religion, and his beloved Boston sports teams. His devoutness to his Jewish faith and his inexhaustible leadership in the Jewish community were – next to his love of family – most important to him, and one of his most admirable qualities.
Just as important, as a friend AND a boss, Mike always had your back. I count him among the top three bosses I had in my entire career. And as a friend, he was always there – compassionate, concerned, supportive, interested. He was an usher in our wedding and Kate and I were honored that he was. We loved Mike and his beautiful wife, Dawn (they were married 10 years before us, but we shared the same anniversary date!).
Like the great teacher he was, Mike beamed when one of his proteges (I count myself among the many he had) achieved a measure of success. He never used the words “I’m proud of you” as I progressed in my author career – that wasn’t his style – but I knew he was proud by his constant encouragement and the many discussions we had about my books. Then again, I regret that I never explicitly said to him: “I doubt I’d ever be an author if it weren’t for your incredible influence on my writing.” I can only hope he knew that. RIP Mike. You left us too soon – and damn, I miss you already.
